


Skiing

by Allegra Tale (Wingsister_Miri)



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, I just want them to be happy, MY BABIES, Skiing, and get their own movie, cutie-patooties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 18:23:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1479514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wingsister_Miri/pseuds/Allegra%20Tale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha and Clint are sent on a mission to Austria. But who says they can't have a little fun while they're there?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skiing

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this quite a while ago. It is also posted at ff.net under the same username.

Clint stood at the top of the mountain and looked around. All around him he saw snow and ice covering everything. He started skiing down the slope, reveling in the ease with which his skis carved this way and that, slowly curving down towards the valley.

As he skied down the track, he carefully catalogued everything he saw: potential hiding places, good areas for the planned ambush, but also the best slopes for skiing for fun once the mission was over. Almost down by the lift, he pulled up at the side of the slope and scanned the training hill for Natasha Romanoff: the Black Widow, his partner and best friend. She was with their mark. Clint chuckled as he remembered yet again the debriefing where Agent Coulson had given them their mark’s name.

“Seriously?” Natasha had asked, “We really have a mark named Mark? I never had one of those before, what are the odds?”

Apart from his name, there was hardly anything special about Mark. He had some information, Natasha was going to get it, and if Mark didn’t realize he had been robbed, there wasn’t even any reason to eliminate him. Clint was there purely as insurance in case anything went seriously wrong.

There they were, he’d found Natasha’s bright red helmet in the sea of newbie skiers. Natasha was a great skier, rock-steady with an elegant, efficient style, but if Clint hadn’t known that, he never would have guessed it looking at her now. She looked like a newborn foal taking its first steps, awkward and about to fall over, yet also adorable and endearing.

Clint had not been surprised when Mark had fallen for “Natalie” fast enough to invite her to come with him on vacation only three weeks after meeting her.

The destination, however, was not what Clint would have expected. He and Natasha had thought that Mark would take her to some beach resort, but instead he had invited her to an exclusive ski area in Austria.

They had been quite happy about that, not having had an opportunity to go there in some time, especially under non-lethal circumstances. Ever since the Battle of New York, Director Fury had wanted to keep them relatively close in case they were needed again. Natasha and Clint had recently started complaining – loudly – about feeling cooped up and useless within earshot of Agent Coulson, their handler.

It must have worked, because now Clint was standing at the foot of the Grießenkareck Mountain in Austria, Europe.

Natasha was still barely coping with Mark’s help. She had decided to be helpless on the slopes so he could “rescue” her and believe in his good luck that a beautiful woman like her had decided to be together with an average guy like him. Still, Clint thought it was pitiful, watching Mark fuss over his partner like this.

Clint was getting cold so he took off again, skiing towards the lift in wide, lazy curves. Back at the plateau at the top of the mountain, he sat down on the terrace of one of the many rustic restaurants and enjoyed the sun while he waited for his coffee to arrive.

Drinking the excellent cappuccino, he studied the map of the ski area again. Mark would have to stay on the blue routes with Natasha, but Cling was not so restricted. The only blue route up here ran down the mountain in flat, wide curves. Falling there would hardly be possible. However, after every curve the blue track crossed the steeper red one which went almost straight down.

The skiers on that route were a lot faster and barely checked before racing across the openings of the blue track. It would be easy work, cutting off Mark and making Natasha fall and making it seem like an accident. He had seen collisions at every crossing, among swearing in German, English and a hundred other languages.

Clint sat up as he heard Natasha’s distinctive laughter. Her and Mark were passing right over his head in a lift capsule. Apparently, Mark had deemed Natasha proficient enough to try her hand at a slightly more difficult, longer slope than the newbie hill. Clint decided to give them a five minute head start before following them, and settled back to finish his coffee.

Clint skied along the first curve of the blue track, dodging very small, brightly coloured out-of-control children left and right. He reached the beginning of the red route and turned into the steeper slope. Halfway between the first and second blue crossing he waited for Natasha’s bright red helmet to appear among the trees.

When it did, he pushed off and skied down as fast as possible without hurting Natasha in the collision. He drove right over her skis and gave her valley-side arm a tug so she fell over towards that side. He could hear Mark shouting after him, insulting him.

He laughed; there was nothing Mark could do without leaving his “Natalie” behind. He wouldn’t even recognize Clint later should they meet because he was wearing a helmet and ski mask. Clint stopped at the next intersection and looked back up at the chaos he had created.

Natasha was still lying in the snow, but a few meters below the collision site. Apparently she had rolled to make the fall more dramatic. Mark was standing at her side, trying to help her up. When Natasha had finally, after much wobbling, stood up, she threw her arms around Mark and burst into very convincing sobs.  
Cling smirked. Mark didn’t stand a chance against her.

 

 

Clint was sitting in a tree, watching Natasha and Mark through the glass front of the lodge. They were all alone (well, except for Clint, who was watching like a hawk from a distance), the little house was situated halfway up the mountain, looking idyllic in the moonlit snow.

Mark had gotten a fire going and he and Natasha were stretched out on the rug in front of it, wine glasses within easy reach. They looked happy: Natasha was chuckling softly at another of Mark’s jokes, and Mark was lying on his side, looking at her in adoration.

Natasha was _good._ If he hadn’t known, Clint would never have believed she was just acting. Well, maybe not all of it was acting. The lodge was luxurious and comfortable and Mark was at least a nice guy.

Clint sighed loudly, startling some animals in the forest behind him. Looking at Natasha and Mark like this, he got the strange urge to start _nesting._ He couldn’t really explain it, but he wanted to find a nice mate (okay, Natasha, a traitorous voice in his head whispered), build a cozy nest and hatch fledglings. It was strange, he never normally felt like this at all. He liked his adventurous life.

“But with Natasha, life would always be an adventure, no matter what you were doing…” the thought nibbled at him again.

Clint started listing ways of sneaking into the house undetected and killing Mark, trying to distract himself. A few minutes later he cursed under his breath as he realized just what he had been thinking: “Dammit! Fucking Tony Stark with his fucking bird metaphors! Always spouting them around the Tower, now I can’t even keep them out of my own head? I’m going to kill him!”

 

 

Later that night, Clint watched as Natasha crept through the lodge, leaving Mark to sleep obliviously upstairs. She found the safe and opened it up easily enough. She snapped pictures of the sheets of paper she found inside and then snuck out the back door to meet Clint and hand over the memory stick.

It was icy cold and she was shivering when Clint climbed down from his tree, even though he hadn’t taken long at all.

“Everything in order?” Clint asked quietly, “Can we get out of here?”

“Not yet,” Natasha whispered, “I think the files are encoded. Pretty simple system, but I’ll need to get the key from him, it could be anything. Well, any word he could remember. We’ll have to stay a little bit longer, so you can go back to lurking. Or better yet, you can go to sleep. I really have it covered here.”

Natasha went back into the house, taking care to warm her feet so as not to wake Mark when she climbed back into bed with him. Clint climbed back up into his tree and continued his silent watch over his partner.

 

 

The next morning, Natasha asked Mark if they could go to the thermal spa instead of going skiing again. She pouted adorably, looking up at him though her long, long lashes, saying her muscles were too sore to possibly ski again. Of course Mark gave in _immediately._

Clint followed them to the spa discreetly. No way to look in from the outside: He’d have to go for more direct methods of surveillance. Clint went in, actually standing in line right behind the pair, and bought the same kind of ticket they did.

After the got out of the showers, Mark met back up with Natasha.

“Natalie!” he exclaimed, “you look … incredible.”

Clint had to agree with him there. Natasha looked absolutely stunning. She was wearing a blue bikini with white polka dots and her bright red hair just brushed her shoulders softly. She had a blue towel with her and held out her hand invitingly to Mark.

She pulled him along to a small whirlpool and dropped her towel on one of the lounges standing to one side. She slid into the pool and sat by the edge, sighing contentedly. Clint sat on one of the other lounge chairs and busied himself with his towel while discreetly watching Natasha and Mark. He had climbed in after her and now she was sitting next to her, her head on his shoulder.

Natasha whispered something to Mark that made him blush. Clint could only imagine what it might have been.

After a while, Clint climbed into the same little pool and sat down on the opposite side from the “happy couple”. Mark nodded at him but Natasha didn’t even spare him a glance. Good. Clint was after all quite handsome, even if he did say so himself, and it could only encourage and reassure Mark if Natasha completely ignored Clint in favour of her date.

Clint rested his head on the edge of the pool and pretended to doze off. Natasha was batting her eyelashes at Mark again, he just knew it.

“Sooo,” she said quietly, just loud enough for Clint to hear, “tell me more about yourself. I feel like I hardly know you, we only met a few weeks ago.”

“What do you want to know then?”

“I want you to tell me what’s important to you. Do you have any pets? A prize model car collection? Anything like that.”

Mark paused for a bit, obviously thinking his answer through.

Finally he started. “Well … no collections or anything like that. I don’t even have any pets anymore. I only ever had one pet, when I was a kid. I had a pony. She was a sweet little Shetland Pony. Candy, her name was.” He sighed. “She died a long time ago though. She was very old, it was to be expected, but I was still devastated. I never had any pets after that.”

“Oh honey,” Natasha whispered. “I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to bring up something so painful.” She rubbed little soothing circles over Mark’s back and kissed him.   

After a while, Clint had had enough of the sighs, the sound of wet skin moving against skin and the little waves stirred by the movements. He dropped his arm from the rim of the pool, where it had been lying, into the water, creating a small splash and startling Mark. He jerked back from Natasha, and then settled back against the side of the pool.

“And you?” he asked shakily, “do you have any pets?” Natasha obviously affected him _quite_ deeply. Well, Clint felt for him there, who did his partner _not_ affect?

“No,” Natasha answered laughingly. “I barely manage to keep my house plants alive; I really wouldn’t trust myself with anything sentient.” She chuckled again.

Clint loved that sound. Anyway, the mood was saved and Natasha already had one possible key.

Over the next couple of hours Clint followed Natasha and Mark around as discreetly as possible as she wheedled his parents’ names, his grandparents’ names, his favourite foods and athletes, books and musicians out of him.

Clint thought to himself that this assignment was certainly a cut above the usual standard. Na one was bleeding yet, no one was screaming, and he was being paid to watch Natasha do what she did best. In a skimpy bikini. Another bonus.

After a lunch of Schnitzel and delicious fries, Natasha and Mark got ready to leave. The afternoon they spent lazing around the lodge, actually playing board games in front of the fire.

 

 

That night, he met Natasha in the house and they tried to decode the documents she had gotten the night before with the possible keys they had. In the end, it turned out to be _very_ easy. “Candy” turned out to be just what they needed. This had certainly been an easy job. Fury would be pleased with them.

Feeling relieved and exhilarated after sending the documents off to Coulson, they decided to have a little fun while Mark was still asleep.

Natasha got dressed and they went outside to go sledding. The ski lift was still running, it was the weekly night-skiing event that evening. They went up the mountain together, laughing and shoving each other like little children.

When they finally reached the top of the slope, Natasha threw herself on her sled and sped off, shouting “Last one down is a slowpoke!” Clint kicked off and raced after her.

The sledding track was quite narrow and had many hairpin corners that could only be navigated with extreme skill at the speed they were going. Good thing they both had excellent reflexes, Clint thought as he whipped around another narrow turn.

 He was slowly gaining on Natasha, her hair was the bright red beacon he was following through the gloom. He finally drew alongside her and tried to pass, but she was having none of that.

A shoving match developed, they were starting to sway dangerously, still they were ramming into each other’s sleds and finally,

  _-boom-_

they crashed and tumbled off their sleds.

They rolled down the slope together, laughing, limbs flying everywhere, until they came to rest in a snowdrift. Natasha lay on top of Clint, still laughing, ruffling his hair to get the snow out.

Without even thinking about it, without worrying about the consequences, Clint kissed her.

She froze for a moment, and then kissed him back, slipping her tongue between his lips. Clint ran his hands through her hair, reveling in the feel of the silky strands between his fingers, the heat of her body pressed against his. He felt like he could go on doing this forever, but after what felt like their small, private eternity, Natasha pulled back from him and sat up, staring at him.

Clint was still lying there, blessed out, and he could only watch as Natasha looked at him awkwardly, punched his shoulder and said “Come on, slowpoke” before getting back on her sled and sliding off into the night.

Clint slowly got back to his feet and retrieved his sled. He got back on and kicked off, still moving like in a dream.

He had kissed Natasha. Natasha, the Black Widow, his partner and best friend. And she had not only not killed him, she had actually kissed hi back!

He felt like a giddy teenager as he went down the slope after her, the wind rustling through his hair. Exhilarated, he thought that this must be the most thrilling night of his life. Well, the most thrilling night when no one had tried to kill his partner or him.

As he sped down the mountain, he thought about the future. It was uncertain, and he found he didn’t mind at all.

They would finish the mission, and then they would see where things led them. Right now, life was good.

**Author's Note:**

> I came up with this idea after a day of skiing in Flachau. The ski area I have described here is basically Flachau, but more luxurious. Flachau couldn’t really be called “exclusive” at all. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed yourself reading this story.


End file.
